The Long Road Home
by militaryhistory
Summary: A member of a group of Scouts caught in Minnesota at the beginning of the war tells his tale. A/N: Over and done with.
1. Whilst Canoeing

The Long Road Home

**I come into the office of Professor Jake Heidegger. He stands, comes around the desk, tells me to sit down and relax, then goes back around to his side, and leans back in his chair. I take a moment to look around his office. On one wall hangs a SIR, a Lobo, and a Pulaski****1****, along with a picture of several young men and two older men, weatherbeaten and well-armed. I decide to ask about the Pulaski first, as my curiosity is piqued. Note to the reader: I have chosen to render the interview as I heard it, as accents such as Jake's are growing rarer and rarer due to the great intermingling that occurred during the war.**

**So, what's the story behind the Pulaski?**

Oh, the Pulaski? That's one of the reasons I'm alive. Killed my first Zack with it.

**How'd that occur?**

If I can give you some background, I was a Boy Scout back in the day, and, if I may say so, a pretty decent one. Decent enough, at any rate, to where I was elected t' the Order of the Arrow, which is rather like Scoutin's honor society. Anyways, it was getting to be the end of my last year in Scouts—you're no longer a Boy Scout when you turn 18, if you want t' stay you have t' become an adult leader—Junior Assistant Scoutmaster or somesuch. The OA's different, you can stay in 'till you're twenty-one—anyways, the real point of OA is "cheerful service." That's what we did—and they still do. **He says this with evident pride in his voice. **The point of all that is this: There's a High Adventure2 base up on the Minnesota-Canada border called "Northern Tier", which is a canoe base. One of the things the OA used to do was a trip up there where you did upkeep on the portage3 trails for a week, then you got to pick a weeklong canoe trip.

**Sounds fun.**

Trust me, it was. And yes, I'm getting t' the point. Anyway, the troop's older OA members decided to do an en masse sign-up as kind of a last hurrah 'fore we all aged out. **His eyes cloud briefly and he pauses, then shakes his head** **and continues. **Now, I'd heard all the news 'bout "African rabies" and whatnot, and, in all honesty, I was really gettin' annoyed with it. All the news media people were actin' like it was "the end of the world." **He snorts. **And who was gonna take it seriously, after the SARS and swine flu4 scares? Get Phalanxed, maybe, buy a gun, perhaps, but don't take it too seriously. After all, to quote George Bernard Shaw, "Newspapers cannot distinguish 'tween a bicycle accident and the collapse of civilization." Most—all, really, of the guys in my troop were of that opinion. So, we headed up without a care in the world more'n usual.

We drove north for a few days, havin' a good old time, reminiscin' 'bout various camping trips, hikes, summer camps, occasionally talkin' philosophy or theology or politics. Anyways, we got up there, unloaded from the van, got our training and tools, got in the canoes, and paddled out t' the trail restoration sites.

We were doin' good work, and got some compliments from our crew boss…**He pauses. **But on the fourth day things changed. As we were kickin' back and takin' a lunch break, we heard a strange moanin' sound comin' from the forest behind us—from the south. We jumped t' our feet, tryin' t' figure out what in the world it was—and then a Zack came shamblin' out of the trees.

**Did you know what it was at the time?**

I guessed. Only reason we kilt it was 'cause one of the guys—name of Mitch Robertson—had read some survival guide 'bout how to survive a zombie infestation and yelled to get it in the brain—the yellin' broke the freeze we were all in. Well, as none of us wanted to get around those teeth, we split into two groups—one group, 'bout five of the guys and the two adult men distracted the critter, while me, Mitch, and t' crew boss, whose name was—lemme think here—Jeff Olafson snuck around behind it to whack it in the head. I had a Pulaski, as did Mitch, and Jeff had a pickaxe. We rushed up behind it, I reached the thing first, swung back as it turned, and, by the grace of God, buried the axe blade in the thing's braincase. Half a second later Jeff stuck the pointy end of the pickaxe through the critter's brain stem. It was pretty much dead at that point. Fortunately we got no flesh spall, as I called the spray that comes from penetration through the whole body. That would've been—bad. We'd been workin' all day, got various minor cuts and scrapes—little bitty things, but 'nough, right?

**That's correct.**

So now that the Zack was finished off, we took stock and tried t' figure out what we'd do next. Here arose a difference of opinion. Me, Mitch, Jeff, and one of the adults—name of Tom Ricketts—and Larry Finley wanted t' git back t' the first portage we'd taken after we'd hit the lakes, and wait and see, while t' other five—Rob Bedfordson, Dennis York, Sam Sparrow—we always kidded him 'bout that—Logan Benteen, and the other adult, name was Mark Warren—wanted t' hang back a bit. We ended up persuading 'em that, if Zack came up, havin' only one portage 'tween us and the vehicles was better'n multiple portages, and thus multiple places t' get Zack attacked. They listened, fortunately.

**Fortunately?**

When we were on the last portage before we got to the next-to-first lake, we heard Zack moanin' comin' from where we'd last camped. Must've followed the moan from that one we killed. So we got to the last portage, and me, Jeff, and Mark went up it t' see what was goin' on. It was—bad.

**How so? I ask. He looks down briefly, then raises his head with eyes full of remembered horrors.**

It was a nightmare. Apparently the roads north were blocked or sumthin' cause a bunch've folks had come to this town lookin' for shelter. Now, you've heard of how the Minneapolis-St. Paul outbreak happened, right?5 **(I nod.) **Well, apparently a truckload of illegal workers came up there, don't ask me why, I just know they did based on the tales from the few survivors. Apparently one was bit in the city or sumthin', 'cause when the driver opened the back 'bout thirty, forty Zack came out, and the folks on shore apparently were the most unprepared people that came out of Minneapolis-St. Paul. They had one huntin' rifle, a couple shotguns, and some pistols—might've been enough, 'cept they broke and ran for the canoe outpost. Well, turns out there weren't any canoes left there. There was just this millin' crowd on the end of the dock, 'bout to get overrun by Zack. They started jumpin' in the water as the Zacks closed in—and a bunch of 'em were weighed down or couldn't swim. And the folks on the dock didn't know to headshot. The screamin'— **He cuts off. **

Anyway, we piled back on down the trail as fast as we could t' get back t' the canoes and maybe try to save some folks, only t' meet the other seven comin' on down with the canoes and nothin' else to help us out. **He smiles at that. **We were OA. We tried t' pick up everyone we could, but we didn't dare get too near the dock, and the Zacks had been jumpin' in after the swimmers. Most've the first ones to jump managed to get around the Zacks' rear and haul out. Didn't blame 'em much. We picked up…lemme think…two kids, one boy, one girl; three teenagers—one boy, two girls; and a grandfather. We then paddled back across the lake—'twas about a quarter mile—and Mitch took charge and told us t' do bite check on all of 'em. The presence of the lasses made things somewhat awkward, as you can probably imagine, but they got sent a brief distance off t' check each other, while I got sent t' watch for Zack in that direction.

**Why you?**

Mitch knew me, and knew I wasn't going to do a Peeping Tom.

**Why?**

If I may quote the Word, "Everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery" — and he knew I adhered to the Word, as I still do. And as there were multiple lasses, that would be the only reason to look. Although I will confess I was listenin' rather hard, as I didn't know if any of 'em knew each other, and I wasn't sure if any of them would be thoughtless or ignorant enough t' conceal a bite mark out of some regard for the bitten person—you've heard of cases like that, I'm sure. I heard no gasps of shock or anything of the kind, however, and after about five minutes I started yellin' if they were decent yet, which I'm sure annoyed 'em significantly. It worked, though.

Anyways, they finished checkin' each other and we headed back to the main group, where we proceeded to plan out what we'd do next. While the adults and crew boss were in charge, they were vigorously listening t' Mitch, mostly 'cause he'd read the survival guide. We ended up decidin' to get across the lake ASAP, abandon the canoes, find a couple of vehicles, preferably ours 'cause they were some of those new hybrid vans—the ones with actual power6—find some supplies, and head west.

**Not north? I ask. He grins and leans back.**

We figured, based on the info we had, that ever'one was headin' north. So we decided to avoid that by driven' west, hopefully at worst skirt the leading edge of the Zack horde we all figured was comin', and maybe get to the Rockies or some easily defensible position, like the Black Hills. **He snorts**. Now, I don't know what anyone else thinks, but that was botched on all sides. Unlike some, I've read the interrogation transcripts—they've been declassified, y'know—and when all's said and done—eh, listen t' me, getting' all wound up and ahead of myself. Sorry 'bout that.

**That's all right.**

Eh, need to stay on topic. Anyways, we loaded up in the canoes, got across the lake—takin' care to use the dock t' get the rescued out of the canoes, then moved the canoes up to the shoreline, whence the rescued helped us pull the things ashore so's we weren't in the lake.

We then pulled our stuff out of the canoes and started headin' for the vans, fast as we could—especially when the Zacks started comin' out of the lake.

We made it out of town and headed west as fast as we could. 'Course, we didn't know that this was just the beginning of our problems.

1. Pulaski: A tool with a mattock blade on one end of the head, and an axe blade on the other.

2. Scout program for older boys only, generally involving long, arduous trips.

3. Portage: term for the periods in a canoe trip when the canoers get out of their canoes, get their stuff out, and carry it and the canoes from lake to lake.

4. Health scares overblown by the media that turned out to mean nothing.

5. The Minneapolis-St. Paul outbreak is thought to have begun with Chinese illegals who spread it to other illegals, many of them houseworkers, who then spread it to the houseowners.

6. In the early days of hybrid vehicles, it was well known that they were underpowered compared to gasoline operated vehicles


	2. Journey to Cavalier

**Just the beginning of your problems?**

Just the beginning of our problems. Now, fortunately there was another hybrid besides the one we brought, and we were smart 'nuff to avoid four-lane highways, and we planned to take back roads all the way 'till we hit some sort of area we could use as a base, or some secure area not bein' overrun by Zack or refugees. Now, the main problem wi' this was that some other folks had decided that this was a good idea. Some kinda unpleasant folks.

Now, the vans were newer-model hybrids, a bit more electric and a bit less gas, so's they were fairly quiet—which is not t' say "silent" (**He makes quotation marks in the air) **but near 'nuff. Zack was 'bout twenty miles south of our position, comin' on at about a mile an hour from the reports we were gettin'.

I was in the van with the grandfather, his grandkids—the two teenage girls, and the younger boy—, Mr. Warren, Larry, Rob, Sam, and Logan. As there hadn't been time for introductions back at the dock, we introduced ourselves, and then the refugees reciprocated. The grandfather introduced himself as Tom Delaney, the girls as Jessica and Donna Delaney, and the boy as Henry Delaney.

Anyways, we were drivin', talkin' a bit wit' each other an' the refugees—'specially t' other boys with t' girls, which I kinda stayed out of.

**Why?**

**(He snorts)** Imagine a 6-foot-tall, 145 pound, glasses wearin' beanpole, who was a little awkward around folks, especially girls, who he didn't know well. And that leaves aside the fact that I hadn't quite managed t' master my tendency t' lecture, in addition t' my rather argumentative nature.

Anyhow, though we'd passed a couple of small towns on the way we hadn't really halted, 'cause we didn't know what was there. However, we noticed that were runnin' out o' gas, so we began to look around for a gas station. We came upon one that still looked functional right as the vans began runnin' out of fuel—lucky us, right? We checked it out, and there didn't seem t' be any vehicles there 'cept an SUV, and we thought that prob'ly belonged t' the manager, so we headed on down.

We drove on in, but then **(He chuckles ruefully) **we came to the realization that we might not be able to pay, as the pumps required a credit card t' get the gas flowin'. We decided t' give it a shot, though, and it turned out that the credit cards still worked, and we decided that it was use it or lose it time, so me, Larry, an' Dennis headed into the station t' git some supplies, like gas cans, some of the "food" **(He makes quote marks in the air)** sold in gas stations, bottled water, some alcoholic beverages to distill down further for tradin' and medicinal purposes(1), and some oil for maintenance—the whole shoppin' list, exceptin' guns and medicine. We'd noticed when we came in that the desk was empty, and we assumed that the feller there just had to use the toilet.

Once we got in, that assumption went out the window, as we caught a whiff of a smell that would become highly familiar t' us over the next decade or so—not t' be melodramatic or anything, but we smelled fresh blood. We looked behind the counter, an' we found out who the car belonged to. It was the station manager, a guy named Oliver Torvaldson. He'd blown the top of his head off wi' a 9mm Glock an' left a note sayin' that there was now nuthin' left for him t' live for because his pregnant wife had miscarried due t' stress an' died. This struck me as unlikely, but what I read next struck me as being exceedingly unlikely. He said that he had placed all his survival gear in his vehicle an' brought it out there, and that anyone who came by was welcome to whatever they could carry from it, or his gas station.

**(I must look skeptical, because he laughs softly) **I know, an unbelievable story, right? But I can tell you that it's the truth. Besides, what reason do I have t' lie?(2)

**(I must still look skeptical).** Well, I might have a reason t' lie—image 'n all that. But I'm not. You'll know why.

Anyway, I knelt down, picked up the pistol and checked the magazine, bein' sure t' point it down towards Torvaldson's body. The magazine was at full capacity wi' 17 rounds, and, not surprisingly, there wasn't a bullet in the chamber.

I realize the description is kinda nonchalant, but after the events at the dock, and despite the time passage, things still had an air of unreality to them.

But I digress. Anyways, I was just about to stand up when I heard some motorcycles drive in. Mitch'd told us t' stay down behind something if we were already there if we heard any newcomers show up, so I stuck where I was, while Larry did the same over by the alcohol. Dennis stayed standing behind a display. "They're bikers, Jake," he said, not looking towards me, "four of 'em, and they're loaded for bear."

"What're they doin'?" I asked him, and he replied, "Well, they're talkin' to Mitch, looks like, one of 'em's comin' over here, and…wait, one of 'em just pulled a gun an' pointed it at Mitch!"

As far as I was concerned, that tore it. I took the Glock in both hands 'cause I wanted it steady, and turned towards the door as I stood up. **(His voice shifts to a slightly higher-pitch, and he begins to speak faster.) **The feller headin' towards the station was holdin' a gun an' dead in my sights an' almost at the door, and I fired three rounds rapid. I forgot 'bout recoil. Lord must have been watchin' over me that day though, 'cause the first round, though it landed in his center o' mass, simply shoved him back a little, but the second round took him in the throat an' spun him, an' the third round took the top off his ear. He fell forward and crashed into the door, forcin' it open.

I froze. I'd just killed a guy myself. An' looking at the blood draining out on the floor, the reality of the situation crashed right in on me at the worst possible time.

**(He shifts back to normal.) **The only thing I remember about what happened next is hearing a series of cracks but apparently the other three men had turned to look at the gas station when I fired the first shot, an' Mr. Delaney took advantage of this by sucker-punchin' the man closest to him, grabbin' the man's gun as he clutched his stomach, an' shooting the other two men before bashin' the punched man over the head with his weapon.

I remember the silence that fell, unfreezing and beginnin' to shake, and kneelin' down an' puttin' the Glock on the floor. I remember lookin' up and seein' Mr. Delaney walk over my way.

He squatted, looked me square in the face, and said to me, very softly, "Jake, we do not have time for you to go into shell shock. I've been where you are, and I'm going to tell you the same thing my sergeant told me that night in Korea. Get on your feet, soldier, and help, or I will take you out myself, do you understand me?"

That broke through. He was right, y'know? There wasn't time for me t' freak out over this. We needed those supplies, and we needed to get out before Zack showed up. 'Course, I wasn't thinkin' that at the time. I simply said, "Yes, sir," got up, an' got to work.

Mitch an' Mr. Delaney had taken charge at this stage. I got set to work lookin' through Torvaldson's car, 'long with Larry, Jessica, an' Henry. The man had all kinds of stuff in there; MREs, canned food, dried food, lanterns, fuel, shelter buildin' equipment, instruction manuals and books, and weaponry.

**What sort of instruction manuals?**

Botany, folk medicine, weapon maintenance, an' wilderness survival.

**Ah, I see.**

Don't knock folk medicine. When that stuff works, it _works_. An' the manuals provided information on what did and didn't work.

Once we all were done, we took inventory. Weaponry: the pickaxes and Pulaskis we still had from the trail maintenance; Gunderson's weapons, which were a compound bow, the Glock, an' a .30 cal scoped bolt action rifle; an' the bikers' weapons, four knives, an H&K MP5 submachine gun, two 9mm semiautomatic pistols, an M14 rifle, an' a pump-action shotgun. Turns out they'd hit a police vehicle 'long the way to the gas station.

**How do you know that?**

The last biker—the one Mr. Delaney beat up—told us when he was asked how they acquired the pieces. I guess he figured we'd be more lenient if he spilled his guts, though why I don't know. He claimed not to've done the killin' or come up wi' the idea, but he'd ridin' wi' those boys, so we did the only thing we could do.

**What was that?**

We zip-tied him four different ways, put him in the back of the station, and put his knife ten feet away from him. Figured it would hold him long 'nough for us to get out, which it did.

Anyways, as to food we had about three days' supply. We were hoping we could make it somewhere safe, like maybe around Twin Falls (3), Missoula(4), or Jackson Hole(5), before it ran out.

**Why not Canada?**

We didn't know Zack froze up come snowfall, and we knew that most folk were headin' that way. We figured to try an' find a pre-existing enclave behind a mountain pass or somethin' like that. As for myself I was hopin' that the area around Boise had made it out okay, 'cause there was a lot of good farmland there. We'd get tired of potatoes(6), but…

T' continue wi' inventory, we had all the fuel we could safely carry, which was enough to take the vans about a thousand miles. We also tied a motorcycle on top of each of the vans, for recon purposes, 'cause Jeff an' Mr. Warren knew how to ride 'em. We then drained the gas from both of the cycles we left behind us and Gunderson's car and struck out. Yes, I know it was a little hard on the guy we left.

We drove on across Minnesota, everyone in both vans tryin' t' come up wi' various contingency plans just in case it all came apart at some point. We figured out that most of them boiled down to "run for it."

**Why?**

Our firepower was barely even moderate, our ammunition was low, and our transport redundancy was nil. We were not total idiots. We realized that the only reason none of us had died back at the gas station was pure dumb luck or divine intervention, dependin' on who you asked.

Anyways, we were originally headed in the direction of Grand Forks, until we heard on the radio that there was a major infestation there.

We decided to head north, tryin' to avoid getting' caught in a mass of refugees while tryin' to avoid Zack to the south. This wasn't particularly difficult, but took a bit of thinkin'.

We ended up crossin' into North Dakota after about eight hours of drivin.' The worst part was tryin' to cross under I-29.

**Why?**

The boneheads who were goin' north like lemmings had spread out down the exit ramps tryin' t' get ahead. We didn't blame them too much though, seein' as we could hear moans and gunfire from the south when we rolled the windows down. Took us thirty minutes t' go a hundred yards. Once we finally got clear, we kept drivin' west until we hit Cavalier.

**Did anyone follow you?**

No. Lemmings, I said. Thought Canada was the safe place.

Anyhow, we stopped in Cavalier.

**Why?**

We'd canoed for three hours that morning, driven for eight hours, had shifted mounds of gear, and had nearly gotten killed twice. We were beat, and the town was still inhabited, so we figured we could take shelter there if we needed to.

I took first watch, which, considerin' the time at which we got there meant that I was awake at dawn. This meant that I got to receive our welcoming committee.

1. The kinds of alcoholic beverages permitted to be sold in gas stations, pre-war, were not of high enough proof to be used for disinfectant or getting drunk quickly.

2. A general amnesty was given by President Dean to anyone who committed any crimes of theft or burglary in areas not behind government lines during the war.

3. City in Idaho, held throughout the war.

4. City in Montana, part of the Rocky Mountain Line.

5. City in Wyoming, situated in the middle of the mountains

6. It was not just a stereotype, Idaho was, and still is, one of the United States' leading potato producers.


	3. Cavaliers and Bikers

**The welcoming committee?**

A group of the good folk of Cavalier, come to tell us that they'd heard on the radio that all the roads west, north, or south were blocked with Zack and/or wrecks.

As to the east, well, seein' as we'd come from the east they figured we didn't want to return that way.

I woke the others up to inform them of this development, to which the response was a generalized "not good." Mitch asked the leader of the delegation, a man by the name of Ted Gunderson, if we could stay in Cavalier. Gunderson replied that if we hadn't been wanted he wouldn't have come out t' meet us.

I appreciated his honesty, though I'm not sure how the others felt about it, but that's neither here nor there.

**Any idea why they let you in?**

I'm still not entirely sure. I'm sure it wasn't because they were feeling sorry for us—I think they saw some extra hands they could use to build defenses, do work, an' kill Zack. There weren't that many of us, though, an' the town still had most of its residents.

Look, all I know is that they took us in. An' we helped them. Not a terrible lot, but a bit.

It helped that we were off the beaten path. Very few refugees came in our area, an', as a consequence, not many Zack did either. In the time between the Great Panic an' first snowfall, we maybe saw a hundred Zack. Maybe. We generally killed them with melee weapons—for us, the tools we had from the beginning—as the largest group we saw was, oh, 'bout fifteen strong. I was there for that one, 'long with Larry, Rob, an' Dennis. We were out on foot patrol, checkin' for intruders, human or Zack, an' we saw fifteen of 'em stumblin' 'cross the landscape.

We didn't want to make any noise—sound carries a long way out there—so we waited 'till they were in a fold in the ground an' rushed 'em. We'd learned the best ways t' kill Zack with Pulaskis an' pickaxes. They were in three subgroups—one of three, one of five, an' one of seven. We saw the group of three was closest to gettin' out of the fold, so we ran them down first, then the five, then the seven. I got four—first time I killed one an' I knew what I was doin'.

I'd go into more detail, but I imagine you've got a hundred stories like that. Only reason I told you that was because it meant we got initiated.

**Initiated?**

It was the mayor's idea. If you killed three or more Zack in hand-t'-hand combat in one fight, you were allowed outside the perimeter we'd set up. This also meant you would be called upon to join the scavenging parties once the snow fell.

**You said you didn't know that zombies froze. Why snowfall?**

Snow deadens sound, an' allows for higher mobility—snowmobiles an' skis. When we found out that Zack freezes in winter, we were ecstatic. Winter came early that year, though. We barely got the wheat in before the first frost.

That first winter was…difficult. Everyone was trying to settle in, an' while there was enough food, it got real tedious real quick. I almost welcomed the first full-scale expedition we made.

**What was the purpose?**

Supplies, mostly—food, weapons, ammunition, fuel, medicine, medical equipment. When we found the first frozen Zack, we were elated to know that they froze that fast.

There's not a lot to tell 'bout supply expeditions outside. Mostly we started makin' trade routes, that sort of thing. Valley City was our major trade partner—how they held out I don't know, they were on I-94(1), but they managed to pull it off. We also traded with the folks in the Spirit Lake an' Turtle Mountain Reservations a bit, along with some of the Canadian towns that'd survived Zack an' the refugees. Apparently things did not go well up there—there were some bad stories told. 'Specially by survivors who'd come south from the Northwoods. **(He shivers.)** I'm thankful we never got that bad. Prime trade routes were State Highway Five for east-west runs, along with some of the county roads, 'specially between us an' Valley City an' the Canadians. We got t' act as middlemen for that, which occasionally led to bandit problems.

**Like what?**

Almost all of 'em were Mad Max types, bikers who'd been dealin' meth an' guns before the war an' saw the chance t' live out their fantasies now that the guv'ment had retreated back t' the mountains. Heh. Morons. Most of 'em didn't make it through the first two months.

The ones that were left, of course, were the smartest, an' hence were more dangerous. But by the end of that first winter, they'd figured out a few things real quick. Firstly, that they needed shelter; secondly, that they needed fuel; an' thirdly, that we were ready t' fight 'em.

They hit everybody at least once, tryin' t' get supplies. A couple of groups came together an' tried to t' hit the Indians at Spirit Lake—they bounced—hard. We found that out from some o' the survivors of the group that hit us. 'Twas about a hundred an' fifty men, some of whom were t' survivors from the reservation groups who'd hooked on to the main gang.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but we shredded 'em.

**What happened?**

They'd picked up a bunch of snowmobiles, an' came ridin' down Five cool as you please. Arrogant fellers—figured they could take us by surprise, or that we'd be so intimidated that we'd back down.

But we were up on the walls, ready an' waiting. Bikers came to a halt just within rifle range. Asked us over the radio if we wanted to surrender. The Mayor **(He says this with a capital letter)** nodded over t' one of his men, name of Otto Larsson, best shot in the town, who shouldered his rifle an' blew the guy with the radio's head off.

They attacked right after that. The Mayor'd stuck those of us who'd killed three Zack or more on the wall facin' the bikers, plus about a hundred others. I killed one man that day that I know of. Might've killed another—not sure though. Didn't break down like I did the first time—not that I minded that.

They broke an' ran in about two minutes, only t' be hit by some of our guys who the Mayor'd sent around 'em to cut 'em off. Bikers surrendered then.

**You seem to have a lot of respect for this man.**

Man held the city together for four years. He was never tyrannical, though he so easily could've been, an' could broker deals an' settle disputes like there was no tomorrow. He's the governor of North Dakota now.

Anyways, after they surrendered we interrogated the prisoners, who told us where their main base was, an' that there weren't a lot of guards. So a bunch of the adults headed over t' their base, while the rest of us guarded the ten or so survivors an' cleaned up the battlefield.

They came back with supplies, prisoners—an' their captives. As for the bikers, the only thing that could be said for 'em was that most of 'em hadn't been brutal for the sake of brutality, which ain't sayin' a lot. They'd still raped almost everyone they took prisoner, with the exception of a couple of doctors.

We were, t' say the least, displeased. So we held a series of trials—after all, it was winter, what else did we have to do?

We were as rigorous as we could possibly be—we didn't have access t' lab equipment, but the bikers hadn't exactly been shy about their activities, so it was fairly easy t' find at least two or three witnesses t' each case of rape or murder.

We found 'em all guilty, in the end. An' then we executed them.

**No appeals, I would presume.**

Nope. As it was, trials took nearly three months with all the testimony the prosecution called in. Guy I respected most was the feller they made defense lawyer. He did his level best to make sure that if his clients were declared guilty, it would be done proper.

My respect for 'im got even higher as the trials went on. There was some nasty stuff happened at their base. Let's just say that gang rape wasn't the worst they did an' leave it at that. But he tried to defend 'em. Brought out every defense lawyer method he possibly could. He was never unethical, though.

Not that it mattered none. There was enough evidence to've got 'em convicted even if they'd had O.J. Simpson's lawyer. Heh.

The executions were fairly simple. Those who weren't as nasty got their heads bashed in with a sledgehammer (2). The real prizes we locked up an' guarded through the rest of that oh-so-very-long winter. It was almost May before the snow melted. For a Southerner like me, it was a little much.

**Why'd you guard them through winter?**

**(He looks down for a minute, then looks back up at me. His eyes are haunted again.)** We…said we wanted to make a deterrent. But I think—know—we wanted vengeance. We forgot that vengeance was God's—leastways I did. I'm not sure how many people knew that in the first place.

So we waited for spring an' staked them out for Zack. That was bad. There were about twenty of staked out, an' we watched 'em t' make sure they wouldn't get away.

We did it right outside of Grand Forks. Plenty of froze-up Zack that'd thawed out there—an' when they came lumberin' out the bikers started howlin', beggin' for us t' just shoot 'em, not leave 'em there t' get eaten.

**(His voice grows softer) **I cracked when I heard the first howl of despair as a Zack started workin' up a leg. 'Twas like I was walkin' in a dream, almost, as I begun walkin' down the hill. They were goin' to be executed, but no human deserves t' die that way. Not bein' eaten alive.

I couldn't get t' the second or third, but the rest? I gave 'em a Pulaski t' the brain. Worked my way up the hill from the fourth to the twelfth. The others had killed the thirteenth through twenty-fourth by the time I got there.

**Why'd you do it?**

I guess hearin' the screamin' reminded me of what I was supposed to do—what we were supposed to do. Justice, not vengeance. You don't torture folks. 'Specially not that way. That makes you like the bikers, or maybe even Zack—not them for sure, but too much like them.

**(He shifts back to normal)** That's when I figured out that I'd become somethin' I wasn't altogether sure I wanted to be—an' I wasn't altogether sure what it was I'd become. I'm still not.

Heh. Now I'm gettin' all existential on you. Leastways I think that's existentialism. **(He pauses, then shrugs)** Eh. No matter no mind. I'm pretty sure you don't want t' hear 'bout my mental crises—already bored you with one of 'em. Suffice it t' say that that particular episode brought me t' what might be called a crisis of faith, an' by the grace of God both I an' my faith survived it stronger'n before.

It also caused us t' think twice about execution methods, an' gave us cause t' think about ourselves. We stuck with the sledgehammers after that, not that we needed 'em much. By about fall of the year after the Great Panic, there wasn't a single biker gang of any size on the plains, mostly due to attrition from lack of parts an' fuel, plus law-abidin' citizens an' Zack. Generally Zack got 'em when they were on foot.

We had a murder and a rape, as I recall, both of which resulted in the malefactor gettin' sledgehammered. I think that was the fairly average rate for most of the smaller survival communities, wasn't it?

**Perhaps a little below average, but not by much.**

Interestin'. Anyway, there's not a lot else to tell. We helped out Valley City a few times, as well as the Indians at Spirit Lake. We traded, patrolled, dealt with one group of about twenty thousand Zack—that was a tad hairy, let me tell you—and a few others that were smaller.

That picture **(He indicates the one I saw earlier)** was taken in the second winter. Us scouts were grouped together when on patrols. We all settled in okay. Jessica Delaney started gettin' friendly with Mitch, and he gladly reciprocated. Donna did much the same with a local boy, name of Tom Keller. Henry grew up, wasn't old 'nuff t' be sent out on patrol 'fore the guv'ment showed up. As to the others we picked up, they settled in all right. I didn't know 'em at all well, so… **(He shrugs)**

Grandfather Delaney died of pneumonia after seein' Mitch an' Jessica get married that third winter. Tough ol' bird. Told me 'fore he died that he was proud to've worked with me. **(He pauses for a moment, then collects himself)**

They're still together, by the way. Speakin' of, all the other Scouts struck up a relationship there with the girls who were there, or who we brought in with us. Some lasted, some didn't.

**But not you.**

Nope.

**Why not?**

I didn't, an' still don't, believe in datin' a girl I wouldn't want t' marry, if push came t' shove. Weird stuff happens, y'know? You do somethin' boneheaded like go off alone an' get too close, things take their course, an' then she's pregnant. Then you have t' get married, if'n you've any honor at all. That happened t' Larry, by the way. It didn't work out too badly for 'im, but it well could have.

I mean, I had good friends among those who were there those first winters who were girls, but none of them were girls who were my friends, if'n you take my meanin'.

**I do.**

Good.

There's really only one other thing of particular interest that happened 'fore the guv'ment showed back up in Cavalier. **(He seems hesitant to speak further.)**

**What is it?**

It's something I've not spoken of much, but I think I'm ready t' tell it. I think I need t' tell it.

1. I-94 was one of the main routes for refugees fleeing west during the Great Panic.

2. Such executions were fairly common in outlying settlements during the War.


	4. Men of Honor

**Why do you think you need to tell it now?**

Partly 'cause I just need t' tell somebody else 'bout it, but mostly 'cause you're the first person who's ever asked me about it who wasn't in Cavalier.

**(He pauses for a moment)** It was the last summer before the guv'ment started the great offensive. Me an' the other scouts—minus Mitch, who was leadin' a scavengin' op in Grand Forks, Mr. Warren an' Mr. Ricketts who weren't ridin' with us, an' Jeff who was buildin' some new walls—plus four guys from the town, were headin' north with supplies for some of the towns on the Canadian border—Cavalier acted as a bit of a supply nexus for the area 'cause we had an airfield nearby—and we were ridin' north on a normal run 'til we saw a column of smoke from behind a low rise up ahead of us.

Now, back after that first winter, we'd modified the vehicles t' make 'em a whole lot quieter—admittedly, trade off was that you couldn't get more'n thirty miles an hour, but we could live with that.

So anyway, we drove t' just below the top of the rise, braked, then dismounted'n crawled up t' the top of the hill t' see what was up—we'd heard that there'd been some bandits operatin' in this area recently, which was why the caution. So we look down an' see a wrecked truck, plus two intact Jeep vehicles, an' about ten people down there. One of 'em looked t' be dead on the ground, but two of the ones standin' looked like they were bein' restrained, each by two folks, while one man looked t' be readin' from a book, an' he was flanked by a couple of hardcases.

I pulled out the binoculars I'd been given for this run t' get a closer look—somethin' 'bout this didn't feel right at all. Turned out the two folk bein' restrained were women—not unattractive women, either, an' all those others were men, includin' the body.

Now, for all I knew these women an' the dead man were the bandits, so I was 'bout t' tell the guys that we'd go t' meet these fellows when the feller holdin' the book slammed it shut, the women's feet were kicked out from under 'em, and the men started pullin' at their clothes.

Well, that settled that. Everyone else could see this, so I didn't have t' tell 'em what t' do. I just simply whispered t' fire from left t' right, man t' man, took aim, waited five seconds—an interminable five seconds—an' fired, takin' book man in his gut. The others were brought down in short order—headshots, mostly. They were quite surprised.

We checked the vehicles for signs of movement an' didn't see any, an' we moved quickly but carefully down the slope, rifles at the ready. Once we we'd checked t' be sure that all of 'em but the book man were dead, I sent two of the Cavalier men, John Thomas an' Joe Halvorson, plus Sam an' Logan, t' check the vehicles, put the other Cavalier men, Kevin Higgins an' Ollie Ericsson on helpin' the women, while I stuck Rob with gettin' Larry an' Dennis down there with the vans. I took a knee an' rolled book man over, took his weapons from his belt an' checked his hands, an' then I said t' him, "Why did y'all do this?" Almost all of the survivin' bandit gangs'd learned that rape was the quickest way t' get hunted down like Zack, so you can see my confusion.

Man hacked up some blood, then motioned for me t' lean in a little. When I did, he whispered t' me, "The sins of Eve must be paid for by her daughters."

I asked him what he meant, an' he said, pausin' t' take a wheezin' breath between each word, "Eve first let herself be seduced by the serpent into pride, and then seduced Adam to join her in her sin. Adam's sons must save Eve's daughters by helping them in their penance."

To which I said "Where on earth did you pull that from?" His reply was t' hold out the book he'd been readin' from an' say "Read this. It has all you need to know," an' then lay his head back on the ground an' die.

Bein' a curious man, I opened it and read. I will not repeat the even a tithe of the blasphemy I found within it. Let me just say that the basic premise was just what the book man said it was—since Eve sinned first and seduced Adam to join her in sin, then men should exercise total authority over women in all spheres of life, an' I do mean all, an' that men should help women along by inflictin' pain upon them in order to cleanse them of their sins—primary emphasis was on the childbearin' process, if'n you take my meanin'. As t' the details, suffice it t' say that they would've caused the Marquis de Sade(1) t' wake up shakin' in fright, an' would've caused the most radical member of the Biblical Patriarchy(2) movement t' call them insane. I saw red.

**Why were you that angry?**

Whoever had written this was not only a messed-up-beyond-words piece of trash, but he tried t' justify it with Scripture. I could not let what was in this book continue t' be practiced. No man of honor could.

Therefore, once Larry an' Dennis showed up I told them t' drive up t' our destination with the women an' the bodies so they could first tell Cavalier what'd happened an' that we were checkin' it out, an' to run photos of the men against known sex offenders. Who else'd get on board with this junk?

We found a map in one of the jeeps, figured where we were in relation to an area that had a star around it, an' drove for about an hour 'til the GPS we had said we were a mile out. We dismounted at that point an' went in on foot.

Turned out the compound was in a fold in the ground, so we hid behind the top an' got a good look in. We were kind of disgusted—place looked like a hog wallow. They had no one on watch, an' they didn't even have a watchtower. There were two ramshackle buildings, an' another that looked a bit like a jail, though the best upkept part of the camp looked t' be the chain-link fence with razor wire on top—an' _that_ looked a little rusty.

We'd brought some explosives with us—you never knew when you'd have t' run some demo—so we planned t' send John, Logan an' Kevin up t' the gate—yet another precarious-lookin' structure—in one Jeep t' blow one of the posts off. Once that was done, me an' the others would drive in in the other jeep, and kill anyone who tried t' open fire.

Plan worked beautifully. When the demo team blew the gate, about half-a-dozen men came out of one buildin' in a panic, pointin' weapons in our general direction—they were terminated with extreme prejudice—while three men came out of another buildin' right as we shot the six, figured the score, an' surrendered immediately. No one came a-runnin' out of the jail-lookin' buildin', though.

I put Sam and Rob on guardin' the prisoners, an' told 'em t' tell John, Logan, an' Kevin t' search the first an' second buildings, while the rest of us went t' check the third.

We approached careful-like—didn't know if there were unfriendly somebodies in there waitin' t' shoot us. No one fired at us, though. It was a two-story buildin', made of stone with mere slits for windows, an' a door that looked rather thick, an' was bolted from outside. We blew the lock out with a bit of high explosive we'd picked up from a Guard armory, an' then we moved in careful-like.

There were several holes in the roof—skylights, I presumed, else there'd be no light t' speak of if'n the front doors were shut. The door opened right into a hallway, with cinderblock walls and floors, an' doors that were thick-lookin'—and not pine wood, either, this was good fir, I've no clue how they got their mitts on it—which set off a few alarm bells in my head. We stopped for a moment t' listen t' be sure, an' heard no moanin'. Then I remembered what the book'd had within it. I told Joe an' Ollie t' watch the ends of the hall while I opened the doors t' the rooms, after grabbin' some keys hangin' on wall hooks. Doors only had a deadbolt on their outside, which I suppose made sense. None of these folks would've run off with anyone.

I tried t' prepare myself for seein' anythin' when I opened that first door, but there was no way a man could prepare for seein' somethin' like that.

**Like what?**

**(He pauses for a second. When he speaks, his voice is flat.)** The room's only furnishings were a bed with some modifications whose function was quite plain, as well as a hole in the floor for a toilet. The room's sole occupant was a brown-haired girl huddled in the corner, lookin' out the window. She curled up into a ball when she noticed me come through the door, though even then I could tell she wasn't wearin' a lot, an' what she was wearin' was rags, but…man, anyone thinkin' about sex at a time like that needs some serious help. She was chained t' the wall by one ankle, an' she was covered in bruises, welts, cuts, an' had major friction burns. She was filthy an' looked scared beyond all belief, an' when she turned her head t' look at me, I suppose because I'd stood there an' hadn't ordered her t' get in the bed, her eyes looked like a deer's I'd seen as it was about t' get brought down by some Zack.

When I took a step toward her she shrank back from me an' started mutterin', I couldn't quite make it out, but I think she said somethin' like "please no I'll be a good girl just please let the pain stop."

I wanted to take those two we'd caught, an' any others we picked up, tie 'em up, an' throw 'em into Grand Forks.

I didn't say anythin' t' her—what do you say at a time like that? I just simply unlocked the end of the chain on her ankle, took my jacket off an' put it on her, got her t' stand up, an' then led her out of the room.

That after I'd done that she latched on t' me like a drownin' kitten, buried her head in my chest an' started weepin' while sayin' "thank you" over an' over again riled me even more at the human-shaped animals that'd been in charge here. By then, the three I'd put t' searchin' the other buildings'd shown up, so I managed t' disengage her from me, an' the six of us from Cavalier set t' work, rinse an' repeat, only differences bein' that the various women an' girls had different color hair—skin tone was difficult t' determine, they were so filthy and beat up.

We ran out of jackets pretty quick, so we requisitioned some—first from our prisoners, then from the two buildings where the "men" **(he makes quote marks in the air)** who ran this little slice of hell resided. Total of fourteen female persons on the first floor, ages estimated at sixteen to thirty.

The first floor was revoltin'. The second was disturbin'.

**Why?**

The women up there'd Stockholmed(3), t' the point of helpin' the trash torture the others, no coercion involved. Need I say more?

**(This leaves me utterly speechless. He looks at me with a tired expression.)** See why I needed t' get this told? Try livin' with that for a little over a decade and a half.

The next part was the only part of this whole thing that didn't make me want t' vomit. Total prisoners were four men an' three women—the relatively high ratio of Stockholmed to non-Stockholmed that we picked up was a result of, as we found out by interrogatin', an' lookin' in the diary of, the founder of this degenerate nest, of the six-month life-expectancy rate of those who resisted. Estimated nearly fifty abductions between the first spring after the Great Panic an' when we shut them down.

**(The tone of the following two paragraphs is one that I can only describe as Old-Testament style vengeful triumph)** So once everyone had on warm clothing, we got 'em all outside—guns held on prisoners—an' I gave all parties involved a theology lecture while we waited on Cavalier t' send a team with vehicles, as we'd radioed in a report on the situation.

**You what?**

I gave all parties involved a theology lecture. As the cult leader had tried to use some Scripture that had been ripped from context an' twisted beyond all recognition, I, more for the victims' benefit than the perpetrators, gave a speech to on why the cult leader's interpretation of the Word was beyond messed up. I threw in a few choice words concerning Ephesians Five, where it is written, "Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church," mentioned a few things about how in Corinthians Paul stated each partner in a marriage belongs to the other, then threw in how Adam was with Eve the whole time in Genesis Three an' how he should've been guardin' his wife, an' then concluded with the statement: There are seven people who are alive at fault here, an' all of them have guns pointed at them. Do all y'all understand?

It was a very unfun lecture to give, except in one way, an' one way only—an' that was watching the cult leader's face turn purple. I thought he was goin' t' have an apoplexy.

No such luck, though. We still had t' put all seven on trial. Now that trial was bizarre—and I don't mean in a Tim Burton kind of way, I mean a _Hostel_(4) kind of way—no I never saw 'em, I just heard about 'em. Same folk played the same roles as they did for the bikers. Not that the defense attorney was needed. Crazies admitted that they did what they were accused of on the witness stand.

Trial lasted a week, a day for each one. The sledgehammers were applied three days after the last trial.

Of course that didn't end this particular mess.

1. Marquis de Sade: French nobleman author known for his books about cruelty and pain.

2. Biblical Patriarchy: movement that advocated male headship of the home—however, it also advocated that men treat women properly.

3. Stockholm Syndrome: where hostages begin to sympathize with the hostage-takers.

4. Hostel: movie that involved people dying in very painful ways.


	5. Returning Normalcy

**What do you mean?**

After the trials were over an' the perpetrators were executed, we called the guv'ment behind the Line—asked 'em t' take the women who'd been stuck in that hellhole back behind the Line so they could get treated for massive PTSD an' physical health problems.

An' can you believe it? They told us that they couldn't take 'em.

**Why not?**

Oh, they claimed it was because of resource restrictions, an' that the only reason t' send 'em back was therapy, and all the therapists were either now working doing other things, or were focused on traumatized survivors behind the lines, an' then when we brought the physical injuries they had the gall t' claim that all their hospitals were full up with critical cases. What a load of trash.

**There were serious resource shortages…**

Which we knew they had. You don't think we had it worse? And these weren't just welts an' contusions here, some of these folks had broken bones that hadn't healed right an' things of that nature that the local doctor didn't have a clue how t' deal with 'cause it was outside of his general practitioner trainin'. No slam on him, he saved everyone's life in that town at least once, but he didn't have the trainin' for this.

And as t' the mental stuff—okay, yeah, sure, there were bigger problems t' worry about, like Zack runnin' 'round, but it still ticked us off that they couldn't spare 'nuff for fourteen people when they had nearly a hundred million behind the Line—an' that's just the American portion, mind you, that doesn't count the Canadians, who'd nearly ten million behind the Line.

What'd we have? Within decent communication distance, there were nearly twenty thousand people. An' that was it. An' everyone in the area who really knew how t' deal with the mental stuff'd either run behind the Line, been turned, or'd died otherwise. As t' the physical? Everyone who knew how to rebreak bones an' set 'em again without potentially causin' worse issues'd had the same problems.

So we were stuck on our own resources. So we dealt with it best we knew how.

**How did you deal with it?**

The lasses didn't want t' leave Cavalier 'less it was back behind the Line—not that anyone blamed 'em much. So the town doctor managed t' finagle a medical textbook—doctors with specialized skills back of the line'd long ago been deemed "critical t' the war effort" (He makes quotation marks in the air) an' therefore unavailable—on rebreakin' bones t' set 'em proper. An' he did a mighty fine job. The rest of the physical stuff was well within his capacity.

The mental stuff was a slightly different story. We managed t' haul in some textbooks, but we had very little idea how t' apply the things. So Cavalier ended up wingin' it.

The weird part was that I got involved.

**You got involved?**

Yep. All of us who hit the compound got involved, for some reason or other, I've no clue why. Well, I've some clue as t' how some of us were involved, anyway. Later in the war I talked with a therapist friend of mine about it—he said that while there was no specific term for what happens when a girl falls for a guy who saves her from some sort of danger, he called it the "Rescue Romance Syndrome."

I say that t' say that's what happened t' me with the first girl I told you about. Remember how I said she latched on t' me like a drownin' kitten once I got her out of the cell? Well, she continued that.

**Why?**

I was confused on that point too—I mean, I'd filled out a bit from where I'd been when I got t' Cavalier, but I didn't exactly fit the appearance of a "knight in shinin' armor" (He makes quotation marks in the air)—for one thing, I had no actual armor, an' if I had, it wouldn't've been shiny. I guess the "Rescue Romance Syndrome" still applies even if the rescuer thinks he don't fit the mold, an' I was the first one she saw.

However, turned out she was a lot like me. Definitely one of those mighty peculiar things that happens from time t' time. I hesitate t' say miraculous due t' the circumstances of our meetin'. Anyways, she was smart, had read a lot before the War, had similar theological views t' mine an' had a bit of wit to 'er, though I didn't find that out for near on two months afterward.

I won't spend a lot of time on this, but this is important—well, t' me anyways. Feel free t' excise this if'n you want.

Anyways, the first month or so she didn't hardly say more'n five words at a stretch 'less I asked her somethin'—an' even then, she'd not talk for more'n a couple of sentences at a time. Now bear in mind, I'm a mighty clumsy therapist, so's I asked the wrong questions many a time. Questions that made her face go blank like what I'd asked reminded her of things she wanted to forget, an' she'd be silent for a time.

But I learned about her, bit by bit. Her name was Amy Urquhart, an' she was from Kentucky. They'd been up in Minnesota for a mission trip when everythin' fell apart, an' they'd holed up in an out of the way area—hadn't tried t' run far. They'd lasted 'til the winter before, but then they got a pneumonia epidemic, an' all but three of 'em died. The other two died at first thaw when some Zack came out of the woods. She decided t' head back for the Line after that

From what she told me, sentence by sentence, she moved on foot for nearly three weeks 'cross rather inhospitable country—if she'd made it two more days she'd've hit Cavalier. Said she put a fight when they came for her—diary backed her up.

**What diary?**

I didn't tell you 'bout that? (He pauses for a second.) No, I suppose I didn't. It was the diary of the cult leader, man by the name of Mike Harmon. Suffice it t' say that he kept…ah…shall we say detailed records and let it go at that?

**That sounds like an excellent suggestion.**

Good, 'cause I wouldn't've said more if you'd asked. She was there four months—that she was coherent was a little impressive—the nine prisoners who'd been there longer could barely remember their names, much less form coherent sentences. The four who'd been there shorter—shortest time spent was two months—were in marginally better condition. But that is neither here nor there.

Either way, it was near on a month before she started askin' me questions, which I would answer as best I could. After that, the recovery kind of snowballed. She laughed for the first time since I met her 'bout three weeks later when I slipped on some ice and faceplanted in the snow—an' may I say, my embarrassment was outweighed by the laughter. Then she started tellin' jokes of her own—good ones, too.

And we started discussin' things while walkin' down the street together, or sittin' on the front porch of the family she was stayin' with, or while eatin' dinner durin' guard duty—not while I was watchin', mind, but while I was in the gatehouse. 'Bout three months after the September executions, it hit me—Jake old boy, you've fallen for this girl.

I then started runnin' through the whys of it—I mean, pity's a good sentiment t' have, but t' my way of thinkin', it's a poor foundation for a relationship. But as I went over, it, I realized that pity was there, but it'd kind of fallen by the wayside at some point 'long the way, an' had been replaced by what C.S. Lewis called "eros"-that is, romantic love. This was a new experience for me, mind you, which is why I'm goin' on 'bout it.

This, of course, brought up the question of what I was goin' t' do 'bout it. First, I needed t' know if'n she was still in the rescue romance phase-'pon further observation, I determined that she wasn't. This was confirmed when, after dinner at the place where she was stayin' one night, 'round mid-December-eatin' at friends' places was common practice in Cavalier before the War, much less while we were beyond the Line-an' she took herself t' bed sayin' she was tired, I was 'bout t' leave when the elderly couple he was stayin' with, name of Halvorson, asked me t' stay a bit.

Now, I knew the Halvorsons fairly well-I'd lived on their street for the past three years-an' I was expectin' that they simply wanted t' catch up a bit. Which is why I was rather surprised when, after 'bout thirty minutes of talkin', Mr. Halvorson asked—quietly, so's not t' wake Amy, "Jake, do you intend to marry her?" I was, momentarily, at a loss for words.

Just as I was about t' open my mouth-an' probably put my foot in it-Mr. Halvorson raised his hand t' stop me. He said, kindly, "Now, I want to be clear. I have no objections to you and her being wed. Indeed, I would be rather pleased by it, as would my wife. The reason I asked, is, quite simply, because my wife and I have taken quite a liking to Amy, and we do not want to her to have her heart broken. She thinks the world of you, Jake. Now, are you going to marry her, or not?"

At this point, I swallowed. I really, really did not want to mess this up. So I said t' him, "I think so, I'm fair sure of it. I could stand t' wake next t' her for the rest of her days or mine, whichever ended first. Lately I've just been tryin' t' figure if she could stand doin' the same with me."

To which he leaned back an' said "Good answer. If you'd given me some of this "soul mate" junk I hear the youngsters spewing these days I'd have thrown you out of the house"-an' he could've, too, as he was a farmer, with a build t' match, despite the fact he was near seventy.

At that point, he told me that was all he had t' say on the matter, an' that he hoped I had a good night.

I asked her t' marry me on New Year's Eve. I got a "yes." We were both quite happy. There was still some trauma runnin' round her head—a night here an' there where she'd wake up screamin', things of that nature, but we were good otherwise in all other ways, though some took a little while t' get that way, if you take my meanin'.

But, movin' on, that spring we heard of the Battle of Hope. That caused quite a stir, let me tell you.

**Why?**

It was the first time the guv'ment behind the Line'd sent a substantial force beyond the Line. An' they'd won—no human dead, near-on a half-million Zack ended. Then they started marchin' out from the Line in April. At the rate Army Group North was headed for us, we figured they'd be t' Cavalier inside two months.

Then they stalled, just barely into North Dakota. We wondered why. Then rumors started runnin' round. Somethin' had happened in the Black Hills. Somebody'd messed up big-time.

An' then we learned what happened. Two men came staggerin' in t' Cavalier, sayin' they were from the Black Hills. The story they told—well, I'll give you my commentary once I'm done.

The commander of the battalion assigned t' make contact with the Black Hills Blue Zone came in all high an' mighty 'cause she was from behind the Line, come t' save these poor benighted souls. They could've tolerated this 'til she, while in negotiation with the settlement leaders, ordered 'em t' hand over all their firearms. Naturally, they refused, at which point she threatened them. Somebody fired an' proved, all appearances t' the contrary, that she did have a brain.

Then things'd fallen apart. Soldiers started firin', already bein' a tad on edge. Black Hills folk returned fire—soldiers ended up fallin' back. Guv'ment didn't even try t' negotiate afterward, or so the two we picked up said, just came in with Bradleys an' Abramses. They said it took two weeks t' root 'em out—said they stopped fightin' only when their ammunition ran out.

Thing was, we didn't believe 'em—well, leastways the Mayor didn't.

**You did?**

At first. For a little bit. Then I started noticin' inconsistencies, both by myself an' as others pointed 'em out t' me.

**What sort of inconsistencies?**

Their stories seemed t' add up an' split apart in the wrong places. They agreed on things that they shouldn't've agreed on, or that made why their disagreement on other things highly suspicious.

**For example?**

Concernin' the shootin'. Each of the two men said that the other was on the other side of the circle, yet each said the battalion commander fell towards them.

We started wonderin' how much of their story was rehearsed. Then we found out.

Guv'ment sent out some wanted posters for leader types—turned out these two were under suspicion for causin' the ruckus in the first place. Mayor called 'em in separate an' asked 'em a few questions. Stories didn't match. They were interrogated more rigorously.

By this, I mean we resorted to somethin' we had considered jokingly but actually found to work quite well.

**What was that?**

We made them listen to bad rap music for twelve hours. Then we promised that whoever talked first would not have to listen to it ever again, while whichever one did not talk would have to listen to it 'til the guv'ment got t' Cavalier. Classic Prisoners' Dilemma.

They both talked. Turned out they were from one of the insane militia organizations that were around back before the War. They'd flew east when the guv'ment and moderate militias broke the crazies. One of them fired the shot.

Not that this absolves that battalion commander of anythin'. Turns out the only reason she'd been in command of a battalion was 'cause she'd been a major before the war. The fact that she'd been a military lawyer was brushed under due t' the officer shortage. Cretins. She got her undergrad from Berkeley(1)—Berkeley, of all places, an' got her Master's from Oberlin(2). Only joined the army 'cause she couldn't find work elsewhere. She was crazy statist, crazy leftist, almost none of her officers or men could stand her—all she took to the meet was her cronies. Dimwit.

**How do you know all this?**

I ended up fallin' in with that battalion later on for a little bit, an' I've gotten my mitts on the full report due t' bein' a professor an' needin' 'em for research. Guv'ment's been a lot better about declassifyin' information since the War. But I'm gettin' ahead of myself again.

Anyway, we first saw some blimps overflyin' two weeks after those two boys showed up. Army Group North rolled in a few weeks later. We welcomed 'em proper, we did. Seemed like everythin' was goin' t' be just fine.

UC-Berkeley, then as now, was known for being rather leftist in temperament.

Oberlin College, despite its current reputation, was known before the War for being even more leftist than Berkeley.


	6. From Plains into Forests

**But everything wasn't fine?**

Well, it was for a while—about a month. Then the Mayor was informed that Cavalier had a quota t' meet—you've heard of the conscription(1), I presume.

**Did no one volunteer in Cavalier when the Army came through?**

**(He snorts)** As far's we were concerned, we'd been doin' the guv'ment's job with precious little help for near on four years. Given a little more time, some of us would've volunteered for it, but we needed t' rest up a little an' recover some. 'Twas a mite stressful, bein' beyond the Line. No peace there at all.

Well, Cavalier needed t' provide twenty people between the ages of eighteen an' forty-five fit for service. Mayor had no choice but t' agree, but the guv'ment gave us two weeks t' find 'em.

That was a…difficult process.

**Why?**

We had t' figure out who was goin' t' go—there were only two volunteers, an' they'd all come with us when we showed up in Cavalier—Jeff an' Sam.

We went through Cavalier, bit-by-bit, t' see who was goin' t' have t' go out an' join the army. If you had an elderly relative there an' you were their only means of support, you were exempt. If you were, or were about t' be, a single parent, you were exempt. If you were someone's legal guardian an' their only means of support, you were exempt. As the guv'ment was takin' men an' women, if you or your wife was pregnant, you were exempt. If you were married without children, you'd be picked if'n there weren't enough singles. If you were married with children, you'd be picked only if Cavalier ran out of married couples without children.

Problem was, due t' the war an' the exigencies caused thereof—there were lung ailments, broken bones that made you unavailable for service, an' things of that nature—there were only fifteen folk left fit for service who weren't in the above categories. That fifteen, by the way, included Jeff an' Sam. The two adults that'd been with us, Mr. Warren an' Mr. Ricketts, were both over forty-five.

Mayor had t' find people. He went t' those of us who'd come in t' Cavalier 'stead of bein' born there first.

**Do you know why?**

We weren't really his people, which annoyed me a bit, but I understood his reasonin'. Amy didn't much like it. Mayor also didn't particularly want t' send out women, either.

**Why not?**

Essentially it was that he didn't want t' send wombs out. We'd had a couple of women die in childbirth, an' so we were much more aware of that particular hazard. An' if, somehow, we got run over by Zack or somethin'—Mayor didn't want t' lose women.

**Did he say all this?**

Yes, actually. On the porch, t' be precise. Mayor was an occasionally calculatin' man, but he was well aware of personal matters, an' knew that Amy wouldn't take t' bein' discussed like she was a baby factory. I didn't take well t' my wife bein' discussed that way, though I kept myself from sluggin' the man 'cause I knew didn't mean anythin' by it.

We had our first full-bore fight that night, me an' Amy. It was bad. I didn't want t' go, but though I ought t' go, an' Amy didn't want me t' go an' thought I oughtn't t' go. 'Specially not with what the guv'ment wanted us for.

**What did they want you for?**

They didn't want us for line soldiers—they wanted us for scouts.

**Scouts?**

Guv'ment figured that the dogs weren't goin' t' be enough in some cases, like establishin' communications with small enclaves, things of that nature—I think they also thought that folk who were also from beyond the Line would be less liable t' do somethin' boneheaded—Black Hills were just the worst incident.

But yeah. Things got…loud…that night. Really loud. My wife, turns out, is a right good yeller when she takes t' the notion. She wanted t' know why on earth I thought it would be a good thing t' leave her there in Cavalier while I went off t' get myself killed or turned. I wanted t' know why she thought it was a good idea for me t' not do so, an' thereby send some other guy out there t' get killed or turned.

Finally, I pointed out that I at least had some notion that my soul would end up better'n before once it left my body, an' that there were others who didn't have that—that, an' she'd be taken care of by the Halvorsons, worst come t' worst.

It was the first part that got her, though. She stood there a minute when I said it, mullin' it over. She was a tad emotional, like most women are, but she was good at breakin' through an' usin' logic. An' we shared the logic of our faith. I remember what she said, when she walked up t' me an' hugged me like if she let go I'd blow off. "Yes, you must," she said, an' though I could hear her hurt, I could hear her understandin'. "Yes, you must."

I went t' the Mayor the next mornin' an' told him my decision. I was one of the several of us who came t' Cavalier who ended up leavin' Cavalier—only ones who didn't an were of age were Mitch an' Larry, as they had kids, an' the brother of the young girl we picked up at the lake, as he was her only means of support. Also, all four of the Cavalier men who were with us when we broke up that cult volunteered t' go.

The next week and a half was a little bit…odd, I suppose. It's a little bit weird when you've lived in the same house with someone, slept in the same bed with 'em for that matter, for a while, an' then you're about t' go off for you don't know quite how long, but you know it's goin' t' be a long time 'fore you return. Army'd only cleared out St. Paul the week before, an' now they were in the forests, no longer on the plains. How long would clearin' the rest take?

Amy made it very clear she wanted me back as soon as possible. Some ways subtle, some not so much. It was good t' know, an' I tried t' make it clear t' her that I aimed t' come back. **(He smiles at some memory that statement brings to mind, then continues.) **We hitched a ride on a supply convoy runnin' through Cavalier on a cold fall mornin' t' get t' where we were supposed t' be. Those of us happily married said our final goodbyes thoroughly. Those leavin' who weren't so happily married, or not married at all, glared at those of us who were. Not that we cared. **(He grins)**

We arrived a day early at our reportin' site—it was in the Duluth-Superior area, right on Lake Superior, near the Minnesota Wisconsin border—there'd been a Blue Zone there, and an airport, so the Army started usin' it as a supply base right quick.

We'd been told we'd receive standard issue weaponry and equipment, if we so chose. I so chose.

**Any particular reason?**

They didn't say we couldn't keep our previous weaponry, an' while I liked my Pulaski, I'd gotten the chance t' try out a Lobo when the Army came through, an' I loved that thing. An' while I hadn't got the chance t' try out a SIR, well, I didn't particularly like the rifle I'd been usin'—magazine capacity was only five rounds on it, with another in the chamber—that's not a lot of roundage. SIR was a lot better'n that. My rifle I left with Amy—my Pulaski I kept. And that bite proof clothin'? That was some mighty good stuff, let me tell you. Much better'n an old leather jacket an' homemade greaves, which is what I'd been usin'.

We got the chance t' practice a little an' get familiar with military practices—they figured we know 'nough about fightin' Zack t' take care of ourselves. We didn't disabuse them of that notion, though we likely should've.

**Why?**

Fightin' Zack in the woods is a lot different'n fightin' him on the plains. On the plains, he can see you, you can see him, an' vice versa. In the woods, you've got none of that. Leastways Zack moans when he sees—that's the good thing about 'im, sneakin' up ain't his strong suit.

At any rate, we were given our first mission about two weeks after arrived. We were ordered t' go an' check out a Blue Zone based in Bayfield, 'round eighty miles road travel from Superior, an' sixty-five miles from closest Army penetration, that hadn't sent radio signals in two weeks. Thing was, there'd been no calls about a Zack assault or anythin', just went off the air. Aerial recon hadn't been able t' find anythin', as there'd been heavy fog over the area.

Army decided t' send us in t' check it out. We'd gotten some packhorses t' carry supplies an' such, so we had our options of how t' go. We decided t' go along Wisconsin Highway Thirteen rather'n US-2, as the state road led through formerly less populated areas.

We headed out from the forward lines when we could see for more'n a hundred yards ahead of us. 'Twas a spooky feelin', movin' 'long the highway. Felt like you were in a horror movie or somethin' like. **(He pauses.)** I suppose we were.

Anyways, we moved quiet an' quick. Zack was mighty thin on the ground—we only met three that first day. Used the Lobos, as we didn't want t' bring in a Zack horde with gunshots—we didn't think there was one in the area, but you never knew. We set up perimeter that night in Port Wing, a town that looked to've been less'n half the size of Cavalier 'fore the war. Place was deserted.

We continued in much the same manner t' Bayfield, stoppin' in a place called Cornucopia that was even smaller'n Port Wing, before we made t' our desitination on day three. When we got t' Bayfield, town a little larger'n half of Cavalier, we found why they'd gone off the air. Take a guess as t' why.

**Pardon me?**

Town was still goin', just so you know. It's not like you'll be disrespectin' the dead if'n you say somethin' stupid.

**Their radio broke?**

Say better, their radio operator broke the thing while makin' out with his girlfriend.** (He snorts)** Couldn't repair it 'cause they'd run out of parts. I was goin' t' have a little talk with the man, but I was assured that the matter'd been dealt with. We'd brought a few spare parts for ours, so we jury-rigged a fix, an' told 'em that it didn't have t' hold long, just a couple of weeks.

They were mighty happy t' see us, though. Hadn't had a face-to face with anyone new for a while. We headed back two days after we arrived, travelin' much the same route. By the time we made it back t' the lines, which'd advanced t' ten miles before Port Wing, we'd been gone six days, traveled a hundred an' twenty miles, an' ended about thirty Zack.

Only reason I gave all that information is t' say that that's what we did all the way across Northern Wisconsin an' the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, 'long with other auxiliary groups. There were a few times we were sent out t' sweep an area that the generals wanted t' set up as a Zack killzone, and a few occasions when were sent out on long scouts, just t' check the lay of the land.

Now, we were assigned t' one of those when we got t' the bridge between the American and Canadian towns of Sault Ste. Marie, we assumed that we were goin' t' stop right there once we checked out the American town, which we did. We then rode up t' the bridge, which the locals'd barricaded an' guarded, that lay between the towns, an' I radioed in that we'd swept the American side an' made contact with the Blue Zone there—I was the agreed-upon leader of our little band.

We were quite surprised when the general whose command we were under, name of McMaster(2)—man was a tactical genius, despite his postwar roots in armor instead of in the infantry—got on the radio an' asked us why we were stoppin'.

To which I said, "Sir, if I go a hundred yards further I'll be in Canada."

To which he said, "Lieutenant Heidegger"—we'd all been ranked, none of us lower'n corporal—"Didn't you hear about the treaty?"

Now, we'd been out on a long scout for near-on two weeks, so I replied, rather confused, "What treaty, sir?"

Turned out America, Canada, an' Mexico'd come to an agreement with somethin' called the Hilo Accords. American forces would sweep along the 49th parallel all the way t' the Atlantic, thereby clearin' out much of Southern Canada—an' would clear Mexico down t' the 29th parallel(3). So, we were supposed t' check out the Canadian Sault Ste. Marie as well. I answered that we would do so the next day, as we'd been informed by the folks in the local Blue Zone that there was a lot of Zack over the bridge.

We went across the bridge come daylight. 'Twas a cool, crisp March day—not cold 'nough t' freeze Zack. Near as we'd been told, the city had about ten thousand in it—brass wanted us t' be sure there wasn't half the Ottawa horde there or somethin'.

'Twas the city with largest number of Zack we'd ever been in—leastways non-frozen. We miscalculated slightly about where t' start creatin' a ruckus t' bring Zack in. Things got a little dicey.

**What do you mean by "dicey?"**

I mean that we very well could've all died or been turned. We went about four blocks in, nice an' careful an' quiet, spaced out proper, checkin' everywhere we could see. Thing was, we forgot the thing about a city that separates it from a town—you can't see proper into every buildin'. Once we made it t' a nice open area we started makin' a great ruckus—hollered like you wouldn't believe.

Then we heard moanin' from behind us. Turned out one of the buildings behind us'd gotten a bunch of Zack in it—near on five hundred, as it turned out—where we couldn't see. An' now they were comin' out, an' they were right on our line of retreat. This was a bit of a problem, as we were now hearin' a wad of Zack moanin' comin' from all the other directions.

I decided that 'twould be best t' clear out those behind us so's we could run back for the bridge, where we'd told the folks t' keep on high alert an' be ready t' start firin'. Clearin' our way out was distinctly iffy—we ran through a third of our ammunition cuttin' that swarm down t' where we could Lobo our way through.

We were able t' make a run for the bridge, though. 'Course, when we looked behind us we kind of had a bit of an "oh, not good" moment.

1. The Conscription Act declared that all Blue Zones would be required to send one percent of their total population to the front.

2. H.R. McMaster commanded the Northern Army of Army Group North, despite his only previous combat experience being in the armor branch.

3. The 29th Parallel was close to the southern tip of Big Bend National Park.


	7. People and Territory

**What was behind you?**

Every Zack within a mile of the Sault Ste. Marie in Canada. There was a packed horde comin' toward us up the road leadin' up t' the bridge, near on ten blocks, with more comin' up the side areas. Final count turned out t' be around fifteen thousand.

Now, I know what you're thinkin'. Why would we be scared of fifteen thousand Zack when we'd beaten a horde of twenty thousand before? Well, that one's a twofer.

First, there'd been a lot more guns for the fight with the horde back at Cavalier—we'd had over four hundred shooters for that one, while the folks here had only two hundred, an' ammunition stocks were about the same, proportionally—in addition, only about fifteen shooters were up at the bridge, though they had a lot of ammunition. Also, we had very little room to maneuver for this one, unlike at Cavalier, where we beat that horde by usin' _motti_ tactics.

_**Motti**_**?**

Finnish term. Means wood-choppin'. They used it durin' their war with the Soviets(1)—get a division trapped on a road, cut the various portions off from each other, then finish 'em one group at a time.

That's what we did when that horde went for Cavalier. Cut the horde up into groups of Zack of less'n a dozen or so that couldn't come together quickly, then kill the groups with melee weapons. You need room to pull somethin' like that off. We'd had forty miles t' play with, an' used thirty of 'em. We had less'n three miles t' work with here. An' if you check the records, every time we get run over by Zack, it's 'cause we run out of room t' run.

D'you see why we were freakin' out a little?

**I do.**

Good.

We held a very quick conference with the folks up at the bridge, who sent a runner back t' the Blue Zone t' get the rest of the shooters up t' the bridge an' t' start evacuation preparations, as we didn't know just how many Zack were comin'—for all we knew, the Ottawa swarm was right over the horizon.

Fortunately, the folks here were receptive t' our notions of how t' fight a Zack horde. Me an' mine, as we'd been the ones responsible for causin' this, went over the wall t' try an' bring down some of the first clumps an' singletons. That was Lobo work—killed around a hundred that way.

We pulled back when the first mass group of near-on two hundred came onto the bridge, in order t' give the locals at the barricade clear shots. They took out around three-quarters of 'em, makin' sure t' separate groups, then we Lobo'd the rest.

**So you were in front of the barricade?**

Yep. Now, bear in mind, the barricade was about ten foot tall, so we weren't exactly worried about friendly fire.

We did this four times—then came a clump of over a thousand, and that was when we retired behind the barricade. The locals kept firin' 'til they got in melee range, then, kept firin' as they piled on top of each other.

When that clump was done, there were a few more small clumps with one medium-sized clump of around five hundred—this is about an hour'an'-a-half in.

Then came the big one. Ten thousand Zack comin' up the road toward the bridge. We'd cleared out the pile in front of the barricade, so we didn't have that worry t' begin on, but a Zack pile-up can get over a wall faster'n you think.

At that point we, the auxiliaries, opened fire for the first time. We'd been holdin' back, waitin' for the big group t' come in, an' now 'twas here. That was the longest sustained fire we'd ever done, an' we reaped quite a harvest 'longside the Michiganders and Canadians.

'Twasn't enough ammunition t' stop the swarm, though. We ran out when we were ninety percent of the way through. Then we went t' melee. That was bad. Sustained hand't'hand combat's one of the most physically demandin' types of combat known t' man. At times when ranged weapons weren't the primary means of killin', battles were lost by the side that got tired first. Individual combat depended on speed, balance, an' many, many things beyond your control—a slick spot in the grass, a bit of gore, a rock, whether your friend had just lost his battle an' his opponent was goin' t' finish you from behind.

We didn't have t' worry about that last, but we had another worry t' deal with—specifically, possibly leanin' too far forward over the top of the barricade as we cut into Zack heads t' kepp 'em from clawin' through. **(His voice goes soft as he remembers things he'd rather not recall)** Sam did that. One somehow grabbed his Lobo an' pulled. He went forward. Down an' gone inside of ten seconds. He didn't yell anythin' coherent—'twas a mercy for the rest of us. Trust me. It's better when they can't beg. Two of the locals went down that way—one named Jack Straw, the other named Harry Cade.

Things got easier an' harder as they ramped up. As Zack heads got closer t' our level, we didn't have t' lean forward so far. Course, Zack found it easier t' grab at us. We lost four more locals t' that group— their names were Elizabeth Patterson, Thomas Kelso, James Traherne, and Mary Barnes.

**If I may ask a question?**

Yes?

**Why are you telling me their names?**

Memory. They died so that others might live. T' say they died an' not say their names would be t' make them less'n they were, in my mind at any rate.

Anyhow, all that was left after that ten thousand was a few more scattered clumps that came in through the rest of the day an' into the night. Final Zack came in around one o'clock in the mornin'. Only group that killed any of us was that one ten thousand strong horde.

Too high a price, though. A little more than two thousand t' one kill ratio's not acceptable. Not with Zack.

An' Sam was a good guy. Honorable, didn't mess around with the girls, good in a tight spot—saved my life when we were clearin' Marquette, up on Lake Superior. Zack reared up all of a sudden right behind me, 'twas up in my face an' I couldn't get a shot, then Sam shot the critter. As t' the locals, I didn't know 'em well 'nough t' say what they were like.

We buried what was left of 'im in their graveyard that next afternoon, along with the others. I haven't been back there since. I keep plannin' t' go back, but… **(He shrugs)** Maybe I don't want t' go t' his grave. I'm not sure.

Anyways, we radioed in what'd happened, an' informed command that we'd be rollin' in t' finalize Sault Ste. Marie two dawns from when I called in.

An' that's what we did. We scouted, an' determined that there weren't any more Zack within four miles of Sault Ste. Marie. I radioed this in, an' we got orders from our liaison with command, a colonel by the name of George Crook. Little bit of historical irony there, let me tell you. He told us t' sit there an' hang tight, t' which I had no objections whatsoever. We'd been out in the wet an' rain for a week an' a half. We were ready t' rest.

Not t' say that were were just lazin' about, of course. We scouted out t' ten miles from Sault Ste. Marie, an' when we saw no sign that there were any swarms rollin' our way, an' when we heard that North was just a couple of days away, we helped the locals take down the barricade on the bridge—troops were goin' t' need it when they crossed over.

When North finally showed up, we were given our new orders—specifically, our new operating area. Our job was to patrol ahead on the Trans-Canada Highway until we hit Ottawa. Further orders on how we were t' do this would come later.

We were resupplied fairly quicklike, as North was still rollin', an' then we moved out. We moved in stages 'long the shoreline of Lake Huron from town t' town, checkin' for survivors, Zack, good bivouac areas—an' let me tell you, those are rarer than you might think up by the Great Lakes. Muskeg swamps, dense pine forests—it's a wonder we found anywhere t' rest between towns.

**That seems like a rather minor problem compared to what troops in other areas went through.**

**(He glares at me briefly, then relaxes)**

My apologies, but anyone tries t' tell me we had it easy up there, I get ticked. Not bein' able t' find a decent place t' rest doesn't seem like a problem 'til you remember where we were.

We had most of the same problems as those boys down in the Atchafalaya—trenchfoot, Zack grabbin' your leg an' pullin' you down into the muck, sudden drop-offs, almost no decent fields of fire, etcetera, et cetera—if not quite as concentrated, with the addition of temperatures getting' down into the forties at night—which, if you're wet, can be a tad deadly.

The roads weren't bad, but there weren't near enough of them, an' air supply often times was near impossible due t' fog an' low cloud cover.

Things got a little better one we were away from the Lakes, but not by much. Now, I won't deny that we had it better than those poor folks that had t' slog through Lansing, Pontiac, Detroit, London(1), an' Toronto, leastways so far as Zack and people hazards.

But as for natural hazards, I'm inclined t' say that the only folks who had it worse'n us was the units from Army Group South that hit the Atchafalaya, the Okefenokee, an' the Everglades, an' that's primarily due t' just length of time in the swamp parts.

Clearin' the cities wasn't too bad—most challengin' one we ran into was Sudbury, in October of the second year of the great offensive. That town had nearly fifty thousand Zack in it—way too many t' engage in the city. That's just askin' for casualties aplenty.

So, what we did was we scouted out the terrain, found the only spot for ten miles with a sight range of more'n a hundred yards—'twas a spot that'd seen a small forest fire, fairly recently—then we went in t' pull out the Zack in Sudbury, near-on fifteen miles away.

If you've never acted as bait for a Zack chain-swarm, I recommend it highly as a heart stress test. Not really runnin' from Zack, but movin' slow but sure, just fast 'nough t' stay out of bite range, hearin' the moanin' build as more an' more Zack join the hunt—that'll get your heart pumpin'.

That was the hard part. There were two thousand troops dug in on the far side of that burned-out area, and they put those Zack down fast. Disposal took the longest out of all of that.

Then the snow came a-fallin' down, about the time we hit North Bay. We slogged along through it until temperatures hit the single digits for a week straight in November. At that point, we were ordered to halt, something that no one had any qualms with whatsoever.

It only got worse from there. Troops built shelters in order t' get out of the cold, an' after a few men nearly died, learned t' make sure that the doors opened to the inside. Army got prefab cold-weather shelter material, and clothin' sufficient for the weather, up t' the front lines three weeks into the deep freeze. This was _after_, mind, we'd had nearly two dozen troops freeze t' death.

Yeah, I'm still a little angry about that little snafu. Especially after we were forced to listen to a lecture on sexual harassment and the importance of being accepting of people who are different than us the week before the cold-weather gear came in. Word was that someone'd made a joke about women back at headquarters, an' some clerk got all offended an' filed a complaint, an' as a result, by turns, everyone in that brigade area were called in t' hear this lecture, ma an' mine included. Some of the most namby-pamby junk I've ever heard in my life.

**Do you object to people not engaging in sexual harassment and hateful behavior?**

No. The thing was, out on the line, people joked. I heard more jokes about Southerners an' Christians, an' meaner-spirited ones at that, than I'd ever heard in my life. I learned t' get over it. Everyone did who was out on the line. An' as t' harassment—if the joke'd been dirty, I might've seen it, but from what I could gather it wasn't. 'Twas just a tad frustratin'.

Anyways, the temperatures finally climbed into the low twenties consistently that March, an' that's when we started rollin' again. Clearin' out Pembroke was fairly easy, as the Zack were still all frozen up, though there were some issues with buildings havin' a tendency t' fall down**. (He shrugs)** We took precautions.

It took three more months, but we finally made it t' Ottawa. We did the same thing with the remain' Zack there that we did with the Zack in Sudbury. 'Twas estimated that there weren't more'n ten thousand Zack in Ottawa by the time we were done at Shawville(2). That was a masterpiece on McMaster's part, yes indeed.

However, that was when things started getting' interestin' again.

1. There actually is a London, Canada.

2. The kill ratio for Shawville was over twenty thousand Zack to every human.


	8. Trouble in Ottawa

**How did things become interesting?**

We were sent in t' make the first contact with the survivors in Ottawa. Problem was, much like Flint, Chicago, Detroit, D.C., Philadelphia, an' Baltimore, Ottawa didn't have just one Blue Zone. Ottawa, as it turned out, had four, an' we were ordered t' make contact with each of 'em.

**Why you?**

Those from beyond the Line tended t' be received better'n those from behind the Line, so we'd be sent in first. The psychologist boys talked about "shared experiences" an' "similar trauma," an' lots of other fancy psychological terms. **(He shrugs)** I won't say aye or nay t' that, but I think there was another reason that they didn't much want t' tell their superiors, or wouldn't admit themselves.

**And that would be?**

Folk were ticked at the government in a lot of the Blue Zones. Green Zones not so much, given that they were military, but in the Blue Zones? You can bet they were ticked at being left behind, after havin' been lied to concernin' what was comin'.

**You think people would have believed the truth?**

If there'd been sufficient evidence, yes, I do. All that would've been required was some video and a dead Zack or two. Maybe even a captured Zack, shown live on all the major news networks. But no, the guv'ments wouldn't trust the people they were supposed t' serve with the information. An' then, t' top it all off, leastways in the USA, Canada, an' Europe, the cretins touted Phalanx when they knew it wouldn't work. Knew, not just suspected.

Now, I don't particularly blame the President at the time any more'n I blame anybody else who was in a position t' do somethin' about what was comin'—man'd been involved in politics for little more'n a decade before he was elected President, an' like as not had some other issues on his mind. Now his Chief of Staff on the other hand, I think that if any one person's t' blame for what-all happened, it's him, though it was the President's fault that he listened. But still, the man didn't deserve t' go down like he did, though at least he went down fightin' t' get his family away safe, which is more'n a lot of politicians could say. I just wish he hadn't picked that senile old coot for his Vice-president. Man fell apart by the end of his second year. Glad we elected an old military man, even with his hard-left runnin' mate.

But I've digressed quite a bit. We went into Ottawa on the Trans-Canadian Highway, which was a little bit stressful, for a whole host of reasons. I mean, we had three battalions of troops naught but two miles behind us, but in a city, two miles can take an eternity t' get through if somethin' goes bad. Also, this was highly unfamiliar ground for all of us. None of us'd ever lived in a big city this size before the war, nor'd any of us even seen one for near on seven years.

And you know how big cities are. They're just that. Not just horizontally, but vertically, an' the debris could be deadly—we nearly lost Rob an' Ollie to a car that fell off an overpass.

First contact was with the survivors in one of the outer… **(He pauses to think)** boroughs, I guess you'd call 'em, Nepeam. A couple thousand folks, all somewhat lean-lookin' like everyone else we'd encountered, most at least somewhat enthusiastic t' see us. We explained that the Army was right behind us, which they were a little bit less enthused about. When we mentioned that we'd be goin' further into Ottawa, they warned us about a group they called "The Mad Dogs."

**Who?**

That's what we said. They replied that they hadn't had any firsthand experiences with 'em, but that the folks further in had. We moved on in, an' about two miles further along we found the second group, around five hundred folks. They explained who the Mad Dogs were.

**Who were they?**

A group of hardcore criminals and gang types who'd been run off from other areas—they'd come from Toronto, Montreal, even a few from as far as Quebec an' Buffalo. They'd taken over the area around the bridges over the Ottawa River, and'd gotten the Blue Zone of decent folk to the north of 'em shattered by Zack, and'd gotten a Zack moat between them an' the Zones to their south. Strength was estimated at around two hundred men, all well-armed an' surprisingly well-disciplined.

Well, surprisingly until we found out that their leader kept around fifteen Zack in a pit, an' if you disobeyed his orders he threw you in it with nothin' but the weapons you had when you left the womb.

At that point, it was getting' dark, so we asked the folk there if we could stay the night. They gladly agreed, an' we set up there, an' I made a rather angry call back t' Colonel Crook about why exactly we hadn't been informed about these fine gentlemen.

Crook informed me that they'd been told by certain folk that the stories were **(He makes quote marks in the air)** "exaggerated" an' "doubtless the product of paranoia and prejudice" an' some such garbage.

T' which I replied, "Did nobody notice when the Blue Zone in Northern Ottawa went off the air with screamin' an' moanin' in the background?"

T' which he said, "We were told it was happenstance."

T' which I said, "Could you have at least mentioned the possibility?" At this point I was somewhat peeved. We'd gone in blind, thinkin' our main worry was stray Zack, an' we would've run into these characters if'n we hadn't met the other folk.

Crook ignored that last question of mine an' ordered us t' negotiate with the Mad Dogs. I was about t' say that sendin' us t' negotiate was a bad idea before he cut off the transmission.

The next mornin' we went up t' Gloucester t' meet up with the third Blue Zone. This one was around two thousand as well, an' they told much the same story as the second. While this only made us want to not go there even more, as we'd received direct orders, we had no choice but t' go t' the criminals. So we dropped a lot of our supplies an' the packhorses with the folks in Gloucester an' went t' go meet these fellows.

We knew we'd have trouble when we walked up t' the wall they'd built an' saw a couple of heads on spikes stickin' up from it.

The sentries hailed us an' told us t' get gone or get killed. We told them that we were the representatives of the US Army, an' that we were here t' negotiate with 'em concernin' the return of governmental authority. The guy on the wall yelled somethin' about how last time he checked Ottawa was in Canada. I yelled back the terms of the Hilo Accords an' mentioned that he should've known about those already, seein' as they'd been all over the radio.

We went back an' forth like that for near-on thirty minutes 'til they finally agreed t' let us in with the proviso that we couldn't carry our weapons. I asked him if he thought I was born yesterday. He told us that we wouldn't be let in. I asked him why he thought I'd have a problem with that.

At that point he looked over at the other three guys on the wall an' told us t' come on in, but not t' try anythin' funny. I consented, with the caveat that we would defend ourselves if the need arose. The sentry grudgingly agreed, though I could tell he wasn't happy—not that I much cared.

We moved in ready to t' fight should the need arise, checkin' in all directions for things that seemed out of place. However, we got t' their headquarters without incident.

It didn't look particularly threatenin', except for the twenty or so men standin' around the place who looked like weasels or boulders, but it didn't look particularly problematic—I almost thought that negotiations might go reasonably well—leastways 'til we walked into the buildin'. At that point we knew that negotiations weren't happenin'.

**Why was that?**

Let me describe the scene for you. There's this guy sittin' on a fancy-lookin' steel chair atop a pile of crates, an' he's dressed fancier'n anybody else in the room. Okay, no big deal, right? There's been a few folk called themselves the king or duke of whatever little parcel of land they've grabbed up that we've talked down, we can likely still deal.

Well, except for the fact that the perverted man-shaped animal had four three-quarter naked lasses attached to said fancy chair by chains leadin' to metal collars around their necks.

Please recall our previous experiences. Yeah. Negotiations weren't happenin'.

**Where did they find the women?**

Turned out they'd grabbed 'em from that Blue Zone they got the Zack t' overrun in the confusion of its fall—from what we could gather later, there'd been some really poor plannin' on the part of the Blue Zone folks, an' these boys took advantage of it. The criminals from Montreal had also taken a few along from when they skipped town.

When we looked around a little, we noticed a few things: first, that we'd apparently interrupted some kind of party, as there were a lot of folk at various tables set up in front of the crate pile; second, that the only women we could see were in their late teens an' early twenties; third, that none of 'em were even close to wearin' what might be called school-appropriate attire; an' fourth, that the criminals outnumbered the lasses by five t' one.

At this point, I started makin' plans for how we were goin' t' take this place apart. Unfortunately, we were still headin' towards the dog on the throne.

We walked down the center aisle between the tables, lookin' carefully round, tryin' t' give the impression of a wolfpack come t' meet with the jackals t' tell them just where the huntin' grounds began an' ended.

**Was that entirely wise?**

We were workin' on the theory that if you went into a place lookin' like you were ready for a fight an' could take the opposition that you wouldn't have t' do it in the first place. It didn't quite work out that way.

**What happened?**

Well, when we came before the king, he asked us what we were there for, in a manner that I'd rather not preserve for posterity. I responded more cordially, an' told him that we'd been sent ahead of the military t' negotiate the reintegration of this Blue Zone. He asked me, with many unnecessary adjectives, just who I thought I was. I responded that I was the representative of the military forces that were comin' his way. At that point, he got a look in his eye that got me very nervous, an' he said, fairly loudly, "I wonder what they'll pay for your safe return."

Now, we'd all acquired sidearms as we made our way across Canada, as we'd realized that we might need some firepower easier to hand than our rifles, especially after several incidents where an auxiliary team only made it out of a meet alive because they had some concealable firearms t' hand. Which was why I had a pistol to pull out and shoot the "king" **(He makes quote marks in the air)** in the face.

Things fell apart right quick from there. We were prepared for somethin' t' go down. Criminals weren't.

**That makes no sense. He didn't have this planned?**

No, I think he did. However, from what we gathered later, he was known for bein' the cleverest criminal in the bunch, which was how he got t' be the leader, an' I think he outsmarted himself. He likely figured that if he told his boys what was goin' t' happen that they'd give the game away, an' that we'd be lulled into a false sense of security if they looked unprepared, an' I guess he figured that the best way t' look unprepared is t' be unprepared. **(He snorts.)** Moron. If he'd had his men prepped we would've taken it as ordinary precautions, an' I likely wouldn't be talkin' t' you today.

But either way, we had our guns to our shoulders before they quite knew what was happenin'. 'Twasn't a fight, 'twas a massacre. We'd trained to shoot fast, an' shoot accurate, an' we could shoot in pretty much any direction an' hit a target, given that the lasses had hit the floor when I shot the king—from what we could get later, this'd happened a time or two before, just not quite under these circumstance—an' the criminals'd stood up t' shoot us, with fairly slow reaction times, and we'd taken cover as best we could. It helped that all they had was pistols an' hand weapons.

'Twas over and done in under a minute. Only dicey bit was when the guards came in, seein' as they had rifles. Lucky us, they all came in through the one door, an' weren't really expectin' us t' be still fightin'. Shot 'em all.

Not that we were untouched. All of us had gotten hit, in some shape, form, or fashion. Minor flesh wounds, mostly, although Rob an' Ollie, as if t' compensate for the fact that a car didn't fall on them, **(He chuckles ruefully)** took bullets that, if they'd been even a fraction of an inch t' one side or the other, would've killed 'em. We laughed about that later. **(He sobers quickly)** We weren't laughin' about Dennis, though. He was at the rear of our group, an' was the most exposed as a result. Took four bullets in the torso—any one of them would've likely been fatal, but four? No chance. He bled out in the fight. Good man—a lot like Sam.

We buried him in the nearest cemetery. Haven't been to visit his grave yet either.

Of course, that wasn't the end of it. We had to give a lot of first aid, secure the area, keep their prisoners from runnin' off in fright, keep guard over the surrendered criminals, an' call the military an' tell 'em what happened. We should've anticipated that they wouldn't let us go an' do our jobs.

**Why didn't they?**

It was supposed t' be a peaceful negotiation, an' it turned into a gun battle, an' they also suspected us of havin' acted unprovoked, given the relative casualties. By the end of it, we were cleared of any wrongdoin'. Now, some other folks got reprimanded.

**Who?**

Colonel Crook and his staff, seein' as they set us up t' be the negotiators on this.

**Why?**

They didn't much want t' negotiate with this bunch, as they knew who these boys were an' knew what they were like—in fact, Crook and his staff'd known since the mad dogs moved in two years before, which is why we were the team assigned t' the Trans-Canadian Highway. They also knew we had a history with mad dogs like them, an' that we'd be mad 'nough t' chew nails after we heard an' saw what they'd done. So, instead of explainin' t' the politicians why they wouldn't be negotiatin', they just sent us in with almost no warnin', anticipatin' that somethin' along the lines of what happened would happen.

We were used. I was used. I don't like that much. An' I'll always wonder if I could've handled that a whole lot better. **(He shakes his head)** Y'can't let yourself dwell on that, though. One of the occupations with a high suicide rate is auxiliary scout team leader, mostly 'cause the decisions out beyond the line, most times, really were all on you. Add havin' t' put down members of your team, an', well, you crack. **(He pauses)** Lot of good men went down that way. Ehh, but I'm digressin' again.

Anyway, by the time the investigation was done an' Rob an' Ollie were fit for duty, which meant we could get back t' work, it'd been nearly two months, an' the Army'd just cleared out Hawkesbury, close t' the Ontario-Quebec border. Our first mission, right off the bat, was pullin' the mini-swarm in Montreal out t' Hawkesbury. Heh. That was a mighty interestin' homecomin'. We made it out alright, though, an' it worked like a charm. Pulled every Zack in Montreal into a fire sack that resulted in no livin' folks dyin'.

After that, we went through Montreal, then headed up Quebec way, doin' what we'd done for nigh-on a year, finally stoppin' for the winter near Villeroy, 'round fifty miles from Quebec, in November. Cities take a while t' clear. Quite a while.

That spring, things got a bit interestin' again.


	9. Finishing Business

**Interesting in the same way as the last time, or a different form of interesting?**

Interestin' in the sense that we were on the move again, an' there was a fair chance that the offensive might end before the next winter, though we weren't exactly countin' on it. We moved out at the end of March, as General McMaster hoped t' get t' Quebec City before the Zack unfroze. We weren't headed quite for Quebec, as we were on the wrong side of the St. Lawrence, but we were headin' in that general direction.

We made slow progress due t' the snow that blanketed the ground, an' added a quilt or two besides, but we made it t' Levis, just over the river from Quebec City, around mid-April. Zack were still froze up, for which we were profoundly grateful—just meant we had t' watch out for other people runnin' around.

Curious enough, we didn't have a lot of trouble with the Quebec separatists—we asked some of the locals about it, an' they were kind of offended, seein' as almost all of them were foursquare against the notion. Turns out that most of the survivin' separatists had been on the north bank of the St. Lawrence when the Great Panic hit, and'd kind of withdrawn even further north, up to the Chicoutimi(1) area. We notified command of this, an' could hear the sighs of relief as their previous intel was confirmed.

The Quebec City metro area took about three weeks t' clear, an' by the third week Zack was back, albeit in somewhat truncated numbers.

After that, we pushed north again, headin' for Riviere-du-Loup, around a hundred miles from Levis. Now 'twas mud that caused slowdowns, not for us so much as for the regular troops, seein' as they couldn't break the lines. Zack was a lot thinner on the ground by this point, mostly due t' the fact that most folk fled west when they had t' run, pullin' Zack after 'em, an' we were gettin' close t' the East Coast.

I remember the conversation I had with the officer who replaced Crook, man by the highly unlikely name of Wendell Fertig—kind of a bit of historical irony there, too—at the place where the Trans-Can goes off into the backwoods, while another road continues on the shores of the Gulf of St. Lawrence.

I said t' him, "Colonel Fertig, which way are we supposed t' go?"

T' which he said, "Captain Heidegger"—we'd all gotten promotions by now due t' time-in-grade—"which way does the Trans-Canadian Highway go?"

"East," I replied.

T' which he said, "Well, then, go east."

T' which I reply, "Well, sir, there's a city t' our north that looks like it's in need of scoutin'."

T' which he said, "You mean the other group hasn't come up yet?"

T' which I said, "What group?" Then Rob yelled that there was an auxiliary group comin' up the road behind us. At which point I said, "Never mind." **(He chuckles, then notices that I am not laughing)** Guess you had t' be there.

Anyways, we then went east, gettin' down into New Brunswick around mid-July . Reminded us of our time up around the Great Lakes. Plenty of forest, fairly boggy, fairly wet. Zack was in abeyance, though, which was nice.

Snowfall hit around the time we got t' Fredericton, the capital of New Brunswick, an' it finally got so bad we had t' stop around the time we got t' Salisbury.

**Why did you stop then?**

I know it seems mighty peculiar—after all, we weren't that far away from the coast. Thing was, most other folks weren't quite so close, an' due t' logistical issues resultin' from other armies havin' t' push through areas that had a bit more Zack'n we did, the troops with us'd nearly outrun their supply train. Seems a little strange that a foot-bound army could do that, but we managed it somehow. As t' why we weren't rangin' as far as we had been, part of our function at this stage was t' never get more'n twenty-five miles ahead of the troops. Got a little frustratin' sometimes.

That winter was rather unpleasant, with the chronic issue that nobody'd had enough leave for two an' a half years t' get back t' Cavalier, which was mighty frustratin' for all of us. We were quite relieved when the snow began t' go down an' we could move again.

We were in Moncton when we lost another, name of Jerry Eirarrsson. He hadn't been part of the group that brought down the cult, but he'd been with us since we left Cavalier. Not what you'd call the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was a good guy. We were scoutin' an old hotel t' make sure it would make a safe place t' stay the night, an' he leaned up against the rail that overlooked the lobby—he was a stocky feller—an' he crashed through. Thirty foot fall, head hit first. Broke his neck. Nothing we could do.

He was the last we lost—we buried him in Moncton. Haven't been t' visit his gravesite, either.

Thing was, we never took a psych casualty. I remember hearin' somewhere that auxiliaries had a much lower rate of psych casualties than troops from behind the line. Is that true?

**That is true—significantly lower, in fact.**

Heh. Figured. When you're exposed t' it for a while, I guess it gets easier t' deal with. An' with our group, it also helped that we weren't on our home ground.

**Where was home for you?**

Tupelo, Mississippi. Medium sized town, up in the northeast corner. Good place t' live, all in all. **(He sighs)** All of us lost somebody. Mitch got it worst—lost his parents, his two younger brothers, an' his little sister. On the other end, Sam found out his entire family'd made it through alive a month before he died. Writin' that letter was a mighty hard thing.

**What about you?**

Me? **(He sighs heavily)** My father and my older sister made it through. My mother and my little brother didn't. I found out that first winter in Canada. Didn't help my mood much.

Anyways, we went down the Trans-Can from Moncton into Nova Scotia, turned east again at Truro, about a hundred miles south, an' then rolled all the way t' North Sydney, where we could go no further without a ferry—nor would we, as the Canadians were clearin' Newfoundland. We made it there a week after V-A day was declared. We cleared out all the Zack in the area, then announced it was done.

It didn't quite sink in that we'd made it 'til Colonel Fertig showed up an' told us that our services were no longer needed. That did it. We'd survived the War. When he asked if any of us wanted t' join the multinational force after we were demobilized, we answered very firmly in the negative.

They discharged us a month later. We got t' keep everything we'd been issued, which made sense—there wasn't much call for keepin' all of it. Unfortunately, we were pretty well left t' shift for ourselves as t' transportation. 'Twasn't too difficult, though, as supply convoys were still runnin', so we caught rides all the way back t' Cavalier. Made it back in two weeks.

We'd sent mail that we were comin' back soon, so we knew they were expectin' us—however, we hadn't sent back any communication after. We wanted t' surprise the home folks, which we did. We ended up comin' in in after nightfall on a convoy that was passin' through. We split up an' agreed t' meet back in the mornin'.

I remember knockin' on the door to mine an' Amy's place, an' hearin' her voice for the first time in three years, which is a powerful long time for a man t' go without talkin' t' his wife. I also remember the look on her face when she opened the door an' saw my scruffy mug, an' what happened after. She was as enthusiastic about my returnin' as I was about it. Town gave a pretty good reception, too, when they figured out we were back.

Then there were some decisions t' make. Me an' Amy'd agreed that we didn't much like North Dakota winters, an' aimed t' move back down south soon as possible. Mitch an' Jessica wanted t' stay, as he'd found a pretty good job as the local surveyor, while Donna and Tom also stuck around, as did Henry, seein' as he had nowhere else t' go. Most everyone else who'd come t' Cavalier wanted t' go home.

So, after a tearful series of goodbyes, we did. We got back t' Tupelo seven years an' eight months t' the day after we'd left t' go t' Minnesota. After that, there's not really a lot t' tell. We recovered an' got on with our lives, like most everyone else did.

Of course, this kind of thing wasn't too uncommon. There were lots of Scouts got caught away from home by the Great Panic, an' most of 'em acted in the same manner as we did.

**(His tone shifts, now, to pride with a tang of sorrow)** There were a bit over eight hundred thousand Boy Scouts when the Great Panic hit, an' around a million Eagle Scouts—once an Eagle, always an Eagle, as they say. If you looked around, we were well-nigh everywhere, exceptin' in stocks or jails. We took heavy casualties durin' the War—precious few due t' natural causes or accident, quite a few doin' what we needed t' do.

Of course, no one's ever made a movie about it. Kind of annoyin'. Just can't let our membership policies go, I guess. **(He sighs)** But that's old business, I guess.

**(We walk out to my car. He looks out at the horizon.)** I guess this is the part where I'm supposed t' give some kind of profound observation or somethin'. Well, I think I gave you most of those. All I can say is, if they come back, we'll be ready. An' we'll do as we must.

Chicoutimi: Town located around a hundred miles to the north of Quebec City


End file.
